


So Dearly I Love Him

by xcourtney_chaoticx



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Gift Fic, Happy Ending, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Potterlock AU, Sexual Content, johnlockchallenges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcourtney_chaoticx/pseuds/xcourtney_chaoticx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Holmes family is one of the oldest Pureblood families in Britain, and they prided themselves on it. Well, all of them except Sherlock. No, Sherlock couldn't be bothered to waste his mind on hate... especially not after he meets the Muggleborn John Watson on the Hogwarts Express. A look at the beginning of their relationship... and its end...</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Dearly I Love Him

**Author's Note:**

> Potterlock! AU for the johnlockchallenges gift exchange! I wrote this fic for mint-chocolategelato (Tumblr) who requested: Death Eather!Sherlock, with angst and happy ending. I sort of got away from the Death Eater bit until the end, but it's very Potterlock-y and I hope they like it as much I do! I really had a lot of fun writing this, as AUs aren't my usual repertoire.

Sherlock Holmes vividly remembers the first time he met John Watson. They were only eleven years old, just started on their journey to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sherlock was, of course, a Pureblood and a member of one of the oldest Pureblood families in Britain. His elder brother, Mycroft, was currently the Slytherin prefect, and Sherlock's parents expected him to join the Slytherin house, as well. The eleven-year-old found it all quite tedious. So eventually he escaped from his brother's watch and sought out and compartment. The closest he came was one occupied by a single boy.

He looked lonely and amazed and frightened and excited, so probably a Muggleborn. He was a somewhat plain-looking boy, with dishwater blonde hair and slightly tanned skin with freckles, and was a bit on the small side. Sherlock decided to make his presence known with an ungraceful, "Who are you?"

The boy gave a short yelp and started, whipping around in his seat to look at Sherlock. That's when Sherlock saw his deep blue eyes.

"Oh, ummm, hi," the boy answered, "I'm, erm, my name is John. John Watson."

"Hello, John. I'm Sherlock Holmes."

John's face split into a wide grin as he said, "Hi, Sherlock! Y'know, you're the first person who's said hello to me this whole time. I was real surprised when this lady came to my house and told me and my parents I was wizard and that I could go to this special school. My mum and dad were surprised, too, and my sister Harriet. The people in Diagon Alley were all so nice, though, all trying to help me get what I needed… but you're the first kid to say hi."

"Do you know anything about Hogwarts, John?"

"A little… I started on one of my textbooks already…"

"Well, here, I'll tell you everything I know."

Sherlock spent close to the whole train ride explaining the wizarding world to John, stopping only when the trolley lady came by for lunch and only because John insisted he do so. Now, Sherlock was not a stupid boy. In fact, he was quite the opposite. He knew that he was becoming fast friends with John, and he knew that his family would not take kindly to his friendship with a Mugglenorn. If there was one thing about the Holmes family that was widely known in the wizarding world, it was that the Holmes' hated Muggleborns and halfbloods. Sherlock had done his best to ignore their talk of hate.

Especially now, as he sat talking with John, he could see no differences between the two of them. They were both just two young boys starting their lives' journeys, on their way to becoming great wizards. He was suddenly thankful that John knew nothing of his family, as Sherlock found himself more ashamed of them than usual. That shame grew when there was a short knock on the compartment door, and Anthea walked in. She was from another one of the powerful wizarding families and had fallen under Mycroft's influence quickly.

"Come, Sherlock. Your brother's waiting for you," the girl said.

"No, I don't want to," Sherlock replied petulantly, "I'm staying right here."

"Stop acting like a child. It's below your station. Now, come along."

"I will be going to the castle with John. Thank you, Anthea."

Anthea's eyes narrowed as she retorted, "Fine. I'll tell Mycroft you're associating with a _Mudblood_."

John gave startled gasp as Sherlock jumped to his feet, shouting, " _Get out_!" and used accidental magic to shove the girl out the door and slam it behind her.

"What was that, Sherlock?" John asked, "What did you do? And what's a Mud-?"

"Don't!"

"Don't what? I don't understand…"

Sherlock sighed, explaining, "That word… it's, well… it's…"

"A bit not good?" John supplied helpfully, looking a bit sad.

"Yes, it's a bit not good. It's what some people call Muggleborns, especially Purebloods. But not all Purebloods are like that, like her… like my family. I'm different from them. While they think that we're better than everyone else, I can't see the difference between you and me."

"Are a lot of people like that, Sherlock?"

"No, most witches and wizards aren't, mostly because they aren't full Pureblood or else we'd all be inbred and diseased. Muggles and Muggleborns helped diversify the gene pool. I read that in a Muggle science text I found once. It was really fascinating, actually."

"Wow, you already understand that stuff? I wouldn't have learned about that in school for another few years!"

"Yes, well, I am very intelligent. I pride myself on my mind. It's the only thing I care about."

John smiled at him, and Sherlock knew that his last statement would soon be made false. John was just so enthralled by everything that Sherlock couldn't even hold back a smile. The Muggleborn boy's face as they sat in the boats and approached the castle was priceless, and they even made some new friends: a halfblood named Greg Lestrade and a Muggleborn girl called Molly Hooper. Of course, Sherlock had to admit that even he was in wonder at his first sight of the Great Hall, with its magical ceiling and floating candles. He watched others got sorted, like a boy named Anderson and a girl called Donovan who both went to Slytherin.

"Holmes, Sherlock!"

The boy stepped forward to sit on the stool and have the Sorting Hat placed on his head.

_Ah, another Holmes._

_Please, don't insult me. I'm not like the rest of them._

_No, you're certainly not. A better brain in your head… and a much greater heart._

_Hmph, the heart. Useless._

_Nonetheless, I know just the place for you…_

The Hat cried out, "Ravenclaw!"

Sherlock cast a quick glance to his brother, who looked mildly scandalized. John looked proud. Sherlock waited for John to be Sorted, seeing Molly (Hufflepuff) and Greg (Gryffindor) go before him. It felt like an age before he finally heard, "Watson, John!"

The blonde boy walked up shakily and sat on the stool. The Sorting Hat took its sweet time with John, taking several minutes to finally announce, "Hufflepuff!"

Sherlock wouldn't admit it but he was disappointed. He had desperately wanted for John to be in the same house he was, but he could understand why the boy was placed there. Besides, he was determined not to let it ruin their friendship.

And it did not. Sherlock and John were infamous for being inseparable, and John was famous for being the only one who could even marginally keep Sherlock in line. They were well-known for running around the castle at all hours, solving mysteries for professors and students. Mycroft was constantly upset with him for hanging around the Muggleborn boy, and he didn't much like Molly and Greg, either. Sherlock, of course, could never be bothered to care, not even when Anthea followed them around or had Anderson and Donovan do it for her, not even when Mycroft tried to threaten them.

John came to Sherlock in tears one evening early in their fourth year, babbling, "Sherlock, Sherlock, please I don't wanna leave! I don't wanna go! Don't let me go!"

"What on earth are you talking about? Go where?"

The blonde paled and looked away. Sherlock looked around the empty corridor before pulling John into the shadows behind a suit of armor. He then tilted John's face up to his, feeling a surprising twinge in his chest at seeing the deep blue eyes full of tears.

"Go _where_ , John?"

"I was… I was leaving Herbology when Anthea approached me. I thought she graduated with Mycroft, so I was a bit surprised when she said he wanted to see me. So I followed her to the dungeons. Mycroft was… he told me to stay away from you or he would find a way to get me expelled so I could never see you again! Please, Sherlock, you have to do something! I don't wanna leave!"

"Don't worry, John. Calm yourself. My idiot brother can't get you expelled. The headmaster would never allow it, and neither would I. They can't separate us that easily. Come on, calm down, John. We'll be alright."

John still looked frightened, asking, "You promise?"

Sherlock simply nodded. He wasn't sure how to react when the blonde wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him tightly. Sherlock didn't even have time to hug back before John was back in the corridor and on his way back to his common room.

Before the end of their fourth year, they kissed for the first time. Sherlock remembers that like it was yesterday, too. They were out sitting by the lake underneath an apple tree, hidden from the world by a clump of bushes but able to observe it with no trouble. It was a Friday, their classes were over, and they were just relaxing outside to avoid their homework. The two boys were pressed together against the trunk of the tree. John was laughing as Sherlock revealed everyone's secrets: what they've eaten, who they'd been snogging, even what house they were in at a distance.

"You're amazing, Sherlock. You know that?"

"I should hope so. You say it enough."

John replied, "Yeah, I suppose I do," with a chuckle and shifted against Sherlock, moving to face him. Then he asked, "What can you deduce about me?"

"Oh, John, that's cheating. I already know everything about you."

"You don't know everything, Sherlock," he replied.

"I do about you."

Sherlock scooted closer to John, saying softly, "You're my favorite subject for observation. I know you better than I know myself. I know your parents are middle class. Your mother is a school secretary. Your father is a postman. Your sister is a bit of a troublemaker, but she loves you and doesn't mean anything by it. I know you want to be a Healer after we leave Hogwarts. I know you aren't always the brightest, but you work harder than anyone else I know. And recently," Sherlock felt heat creeping into his face and ducked his head, trying to hide behind his raven curls, "erm… recently you've developed a crush on someone you don't think will reciprocate."

The Ravenclaw was surprised by the feeling of jealousy settling in his chest and gut. Sherlock felt suddenly embarrassed and silly and unsure of what he was feeling and blurted out, "Your fears are nonsense, of course. Any girl lucky enough to have your attention wouldn't turn you down. You're what they call a 'catch'. You're handsome, polite, kind, and good at Quidditch. I don't see how anyone cou-"

If he had expected anything, it certainly wasn't John surging forward and capturing Sherlock's lips in a gentle kiss. His constantly running brain, for once, shorted out and stopped. One thought took residence in that brilliant mind: John. When the Hufflepuff boy pulled away, he was grinning, saying, "Well, how 'bout that? I finally found a way to shut up the great Sherlock Holmes."

When Sherlock just blinked at him, John asked cheekily, "So are my feelings _reciprocated_ , Sherlock?"

The dark haired boy responded by reaching out, taking John's face in his hands, and kissing back enthusiastically. Oh, that first kiss between them was amazing. Clumsy, but amazing for sure. John was so tender and sweet, his mouth wet and warm. He tasted of tea and biscuits, smelled of earth and grass, and he just oozed John. There by the lake, under the old apple tree, hidden among the bushes, Sherlock Holmes officially fell in love with John Watson.

They shared many such kisses over the years, either there by the lake or hidden in the shadows or out in the greenhouses, but it wasn't as though their relationship was secret. They didn't really make it official, but everyone knew. The wizarding world did not discriminate based on sexual preference like the Muggle world did, preferring to be biased on blood and economic status instead. It was just one of those things that didn't matter. Wizards treated the words "I'm gay," exactly as they did, "I'm a Taurus." John took a while to get used to it, having come from the Muggle world.

Meanwhile, John was well on his way to becoming a Healer, picking up his NEWT courses in Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. He worked hard in all his classes to achieve top marks and still managed to excel on the Quidditch pitch. Girls and boys fawned over him, and he always had to disappoint them. Sherlock was the only person he had eyes for.

While John did all he could to excel, Sherlock simply slid by with just enough to pass. He had little ambition for the usual pursuits of wizards in training despite his great brain and magical talent.

"I'm just going to do whatever I want with my life, John," he told the blonde late one night in their seventh year, "like… oh, I don't know, become a wizarding consulting detective or… or a beekeeper."

John snorted, saying, "Well, those are two very different professions!"

Sherlock shifted and sat up on John's bed (his private room as Head Boy was very useful), stating, "I know that! Fine, I'll be a detective, you be a Healer, and we'll get a nice flat in London near St. Mungo's so you could walk if you wanted."

He turned to the Hufflepuff with a smirk that faded when he saw the other boy's indescribable expression.

"John? What is it? Have I said something wrong? John, I-"

He wasn't ready for John to launch himself at him, gripping him in a tight embrace. Sherlock slowly returned the hug, still unsure of what was happening.

"Erm… John? Are you alright?"

The other boy pulled away, wiping at his face, saying, "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm… it's just… I'm so pleased… so flattered that you would even think of moving in with me after we leave here."

"I wouldn't want anyone else. I want… I want to spend my life with you, John. You're wonderful and kind and beautiful and decidedly not boring. You're so unlike anyone else, and I'm so unlike anyone else that we can only be meant for each other. I love you, John Watson. Never, _never_ believe otherwise," Sherlock explained solemnly.

John looked as though he would cry again, so the Ravenclaw reached out and pulled him into another embrace. All the while, the blonde murmured, "I love you, Sherlock. I love you so much," against his neck. After a few moments, their mouths were working furiously against each other's, tongues sliding together. Sherlock's brain came to a screeching halt as John sucked on his tongue and nipped at his lip and grinded against him. He slid his pale hands up the firm torso and worked to undo John's shirt while the same was done for him. Soon, they were only wearing briefs, John in Sherlock's lap, their groins rubbing together. The raven-haired boy clawed at the blonde's back, digging his nails into the tanned skin. Calloused fingers wove their way into dark curls as they rocked against each other. Sherlock found himself hard and leaking and aching for release. John seemed to know and reached between them to pull their swollen cocks out of their pants, wrapping his hand around both at once and tugging. Sherlock's hand found John's, their fingers twining together. Sherlock came first, his mouth attached to John's as the boy swallowed his moans, and John was not far behind, his mouth open in a silent gasp. After, they collapsed on each other bonelessly, murmuring words of love until they fell asleep.

Their hopes became reality after leaving Hogwarts. Sherlock and John found a nice little flat in London, at the unplottable 221B Baker St. John was hard at work as a Healer's apprentice at St. Mungo's. Sherlock had become a consulting detective for wizards. People (and sometimes Aurors) sent him owls with their problems, and he would determine if their issues were worth his time before setting up a meeting. Sometimes, he would be gone for days, and on others he was stuck at home, bored out of his mind. He took to spending his time with Muggle science books, thinking of ways to combine science and magic. Oh, and of course there was plenty of shagging to keep him occupied, as well.

There were nights when John was gentle and tender, like their first time. He would carefully prepare Sherlock, all while making him come undone in the most wonderful ways. The pale man would be begging before John was even inside and once he was… oh. Even Sherlock didn't have the words to describe how perfect and complete he felt when John was thrusting into him, hips rolling in a perfect rhythm.

Sherlock was also very fond, however, of the angry John he sometimes received after the Healer's apprentice had a rough day at work. That John was all teeth and tongue and nails and grabbing and _damn_. That John had Sherlock screaming his name, left small bruises on the pale skin, and made him come again and again. Plus, he usually apologized after. That was nice, too.

Yes, Sherlock was very happy in his life with John, and he knew John was very happy, too. Everything felt simply perfect.

So, of course, it couldn't last.

During their years at Hogwarts and the in the time, there rose to power a dark wizard known only as Moriarty. The psychopath seemed to feed on the chaos he caused and didn't care who suffered from it. His favorite targets, though, were Muggleborns and halfbloods. Sherlock suspected it was due to his having Muggle blood in his lineage, but no one knew for sure. In any case, Moriarty garnered a great deal of support from the staunchest and most racist Purebloods, the Holmes family included. Mycroft had even become one his favorite lieutenants, which was bad news for the Ministry of Magic, where Mycroft had a very influential position.

Sherlock suspected it was Mycroft that sent the beautiful and insane Irene Adler to see him one day in a Muggle library that was thankfully devoid of anyone. He watched disdainfully as she sauntered up to him.

"Moriarty wants you to join him," she told him without preamble, smirking.

"No."

"Oh, you don't understand, Sherlock darling," Irene stated with an evil giggle, "Moriarty _demands_ you join him. You don't get to say no to him."

"Watch me, Miss Adler. No. He can find someone else to play his lapdog."

Irene rolled her eyes, asking, "Ugh, is this about that Mudblood fucktoy of yours?"

"His name is John," Sherlock growled.

"Oh I know what his name is. I just don't care. He's a Mudblood, and therefore he means nothing to me. Look, if you want to keep your little pet, go ahead. You only have to do as Moriarty says. Is that so hard?"

"Yes. I won't play his game."

"And what exactly is his game?"

"Chaos. He hurts anyone and everyone without a care. He serves no real cause but his own greed. Why would I join him?"

The grin on her face became suddenly twisted and evil.

"Because if you don't," she explained slowly, "Moriarty will find that beautiful little fucktoy of yours and kill him in the most horrifying and slow way anyone could possibly imagine. Now… I'm thinking you're going to change your answer, Sherlock."

Fear flooded Sherlock's entire being. Irene leaned into him, her lips right by his ear, and whispered, "You just go home and think about that, love, and meet me here tomorrow at the same time."

She gave his cheek a quick peck and Apparated away. Sherlock went directly home where John later found him on the floor of their bedroom, sobbing. It was several minutes before John could get him to speak, and when he found out what happened, he wasn't happy, either.

"It'll be okay, Sherlock. We'll run away… go somewhere they'll never find us."

"It's no use. He'll always find us. There's no escaping him and minions. Eventually, he would find us, and he would kill you, John. I won't allow him or anyone else to hurt you. I would die without you."

It took nearly four hours of discussion and argument and yelling and crying for Sherlock to make his decision. When he met Irene the next day, he told her yes.

In his role as a Death Eater for Moriarty, he was actually allowed to do and know very little. The fact that he wasn't allowed to know much did not actually stop him from knowing it. He used this information to start taking down Moriarty from within, setting elaborate traps for his low ranking pawns at first, then working his way up the ranks slowly, handing Greg Lestrade, now an Auror, all his information. Every day, Sherlock would nervously anticipate news of what he'd done, praying his friends were all right. He was especially worried for Greg, who worked with those slimy snakes Anderson and Donovan at the Auror office.

Every moment he got to spend with John he looked on as a gift, every kiss, every touch, every- well, you get the idea. John carried on his Healer training like nothing was wrong, then would come home and simply melt into Sherlock. For five years, they kept up the spectacular ruse. For five years, Sherlock set up his impressive trap for Moriarty and his lieutenants. But after five years, Moriarty decided enough was enough.

Sherlock's perfect little world came crashing down around his head one day when he and John were out shopping. The Death Eaters came out of nowhere, violently kidnapping them and taking them to Moriarty's headquarters. There, Sherlock watched as his wonderful, brave, beautiful John was mercilessly tortured and cursed, screaming and sobbing, until he went limp and unconscious. The noise Sherlock made when they killed him was utterly inhuman. He felt like his heart was being ripped to shreds in his chest as he pulled John's still warm body into his arms, and wept, harsh sobs wracking his body.

"Now, Sherlock…" he heard Moriarty gloat above him, "now, we are truly alike. Now, with your heart taken out, you are ready to join me in ruling over this world I will create."

Sherlock had never moved faster in his life. He whipped out his wand and with an enraged bellow stunned everyone in the room but Moriarty and himself.

"Do you mean to kill me, Sherlock?" Moriarty giggled.

" _Yes._ "

If anyone had been around to witness it, their battle would have gone down in the annals of magical history as one of the greatest and fiercest duels wizardkind had ever seen. It went on for nearly twenty minutes, until both parties were exhausted and sweating and shaking, but in the end Sherlock proved to be the better warrior, killing Moriarty by paralyzing him and tossing him out the open window.

With the monster dead, Sherlock's grief returned thousandfold, and he collapsed on the floor beside John's body. He barely remembers Greg and his Aurors showing up and recalls nothing after that.

Right now, he's not even sure where he is. Everything is layered in bright white and nondescript.

_Is something wrong with my vision? Why does this place look like this? What did those fools at St. Mungo's do to me? John wouldn't have let this happen to me._

He waits for everything to come into focus, which happens very, very slowly.

"What is this place?" he murmurs to himself, "Why can't I figure out this stupid dream?"

"It's not a dream."

Sherlock whips around and nearly bursts into tears. John is grinning at him from only feet away, and Sherlock doesn't even try to stop himself from throwing himself at his Healer. There is a great deal of hugging and crying and kissing before Sherlock finally asks, "Where are we, John?"

"Where does it look like?" he replies.

"I'm not… I suppose it looks a bit like King's Cross, but… it's not quite right…"

"Then that's where we are. At least, sort of. See, we're dead."

"I'm dead, too?"

"Yeah, you didn't know? That's so like you," John explains, "You died not long ago, not long after I did. Your brain just shut your body down because you lost the will to live without me. I wasn't expecting you for a while, but I guess you couldn't wait. You romantic, you, I always knew it. My beautiful, stubborn Sherlock is nothing without his John, eh?"

He kisses the raven-haired man deeply, then murmurs, "Come on, Sherlock. Come with me, love."

"Where are we going, John?"

With a simple smile, John answers him.

" _On._ "

  
_So dear I love him, that with him all deaths  
I could endure, without him live no life._

-John Milton, "Paradise Lost", lines 832-833


End file.
